Gold Dust
by Berne
Summary: Egypt was a pretty sight, sure enough. Pyramids that touched the heavens, skies that stretched out for days. Women swathed in black linen, embracing the deadly heat. Bootstrap, Jack.


**Title:** Gold Dust

**Author:** Berne

**Rating: **PG

**Characters: **Jack, Bootstrap Bill

**Disclaimer:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by Gore Verbinski, Ted Elliot, and Terry Rossio, various studios including but not limited to First Mate Productions Inc., Jerry Bruckheimer Films, and Walt Disney Pictures. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

**AN: **I was inspired by the poem "A Peck of Gold", by Robert Frost. Much love to Ociwen for the beta.

**Gold Dust**

_Dust always blowing about the town_

_Except when sea-fog laid it down_

_And I was one of those children told_

_That some of the swirling dust was gold._

Egypt was a pretty sight, sure enough. Pyramids that touched the heavens, skies that stretched out for days. Women swathed in black linen, embracing the deadly heat. Bill swore he could still smell their perfumes, bitter bouquets that mixed headily with the reek of sewers. Worse than London, it was, and his skin prickled under the blazing heat.

Jack Sparrow had one of _those_ grins that made Bill frown, clutching onto the reins of the beast that lumbered unsteadily across the fragile dunes, all ungainly legs and long neck.

He swallowed, dryly, pressing the strip of musty cloth closer about his mouth. "Thought you didn't like land."

"Land?" Sparrow tried to twist around, but Bill jerked him forward again with an alarmed yelp.

"Don't!" He gripped the other man's waist tighter. "We'll fall!"

Riding this animal wasn't anything like riding a horse, something that Bill could manage admirably. No, these things swayed and jogged and had ghastly breath and hair that _itched_.

"Scared, dear William?"

The chuckle did nothing to soothe Bill's nerves, nor to assure him of his new companion's sanity, although his irritation did manage to rise several notches in noting that Sparrow was in no obvious discomfort.

"You bloody know I am."

Another chuckle. Bill glared at Sparrow's back. "Stop it, William." He turned, and this time Bill only just managed to shove him back before they both tumbled off. Sparrow snorted and leant back against Bill, closing his eyes.

"Sparrow! Sparrow, you didn't answer me."

Jack gave a dismissive flutter of his hand and then, after several heartbeats, said firmly, "Are we in a desert?"

Bill blinked, then looked around them at the seemingly endless expanse of sand. "I'd say we were."

"But a desert is not a desert unless one wants it to be desert, savvy?" Bill pressed his forehead into Sparrow's back and groaned. The man continued, regardless. "This used to be an ocean, did you know?"

"It did not."

"Doubtful William," said Sparrow mournfully. "Would I lie to you?"

"In a heartbeat."

Sparrow laughed. "Only for your own good, love."

Bill couldn't imagine that this place could ever have been an ocean, although the heat certainly felt blistering enough to dry up several seas. "Are you being serious?"

"Unequivocally."

He was fairly sure that Sparrow's response was an affirmative, and he would have inquired further into the matter, but as suddenly as the tale arose, it was forgotten, because sliding over the horizon was a thread of blue that sparkled like --

"The Nile," declared Sparrow. "All that's left of the Egyptian Sea. Poor old girl. It must be a lonely life as a river."

Bill ignored him. The river was rippling and if he half-shut his eyes, it could almost be the ocean. He missed London and he missed Helen. The foreign sands swirled on the air currents, gold dust blown in from the heavens, and Bill wanted nothing more than to go home.

Sparrow was prattling on about something obscure, so Bill let his eyes close. Sparrow would never understand. The sea was his home and his high spirits never wavered. What would he know of the longing that twisted Bill's gut with nausea?

But perhaps Sparrow did understand, because he turned his head just enough for Bill to see those dark, clever eyes flicker in his direction, before saying, "All rivers lead to the sea, mate. Remember that."

Easily underestimated, Jack Sparrow was, and that was the first time Bill came to realise it, while being battered by dizzying clouds of gold dust under the Egyptian sun.

_Dust always blowing about the town_

_Except when sea-fog laid it down_

_And I was one of those children told_

_That some of the swirling dust was gold._

Jack hated England, Bill knew that, and yet here he was, wrapped up in scarves and furs and leathers, shivering and glaring at the approaching island as though it had personally offended him. Perhaps it had. "You've been here before, haven't you?"

Jack turned stiffly to pin his glare on Bill. "'Course I have. Bloody blighted country. Never should have come back."

And yet he had. For Bill. And that, he supposed, accounted for the guilt that gnawed at him. "Thank you, Jack," he said, but it didn't sound nearly enough.

Jack was silent for several tense heartbeats, and when he spoke he shifted his hard gaze back to the cliffs rising over the horizon. "What do see when you look at her?"

Bill didn't need to turn. "Green hills and twisted church spires that touch the sky. Ale and fires and winding alleyways." He shrugged, feeling an embarrassing rush of sentimentality warm him. "Helen and William. Home."

Jack looked at him, his eyes heavy with a dark sort of humour. "I'll tell you what I see: poverty and grime and smoke. I see fog so thick that you can never be rid of it. Not _ever_, mate."

Bill frowned. "But you get all of that in the Caribbean. There's slavery and poverty and piracy." The last was said pointedly, and Jack snorted, although he didn't look very amused. "What's so different about London?"

"It's dark and cold, that's what's different." Jack clenched his gloved hand around the _Black Pearl_'s rail. The ship lurched into a wave, provoking Jack to mumble something indistinct before relaxing his grip. The ship calmed. Uncanny, it was, and it never failed to unsettle Bill. "Rum, gold, ship and sea. That's how to live. Blue seas and blue skies and sun. 'S not natural to have to hide under furs."

Bill resisted from pointing out that he himself was quite happy in shirt and breeches, as was most of the crew. Jack was the only one who felt the need to swamp himself in wolf-skin and rabbit-skin and what he claimed to be dragon-skin.

When they docked, Jack refused to set foot off the _Pearl_. Bill thought that he was being ridiculously stubborn, but no amount of mocking, goading or blackmailing would sway Jack's will.

Bill loved a good sea-fog, as long as he weren't at sea himself. He loved how it curled around the port like tavern-smoke, whispering along the boards of the pier, blanketing the ships that stood at ease in the bay.

Only when he reached the end of the pier did he turn, watching the _Black Pearl_ bob uneasily on the currents, a shapeless spectre; Death, some tales said. And Jack -- Jack was standing rigidly on the deck, fingers of fog snaking around him. He was visible enough for Bill to recognise that _he_ _didn't belong_. He belonged in warmer waters, not the gunmetal seas and peppered sky that surrounded him now. His beads were hidden, his teeth not so much as glinting beneath his scowl. He was unhappy, Bill knew that, and the guilt almost swallowed him whole.

But he turned away, he _had_ to turn away, and his thoughts slid to Helen and Will, of brandy and laughter and tales of silks and spices and lands swathed in gold dust.


End file.
